In the main thoroughfare she met Herr and Frau Mahlmann, to whose children she gave music lessons. Frau Mahlmann was already aware that Bertha had ordered a costume from a dressmaker in Vienna on the previous day, and she began to discuss the matter with great weightiness. Later on, Bertha met her brother-in-law, who came towards her from the chestnut avenue.
"Well," he said, "so you were in Vienna yesterday! Tell me, what did you do with yourself there? Did you have any adventures?"
"What do you mean?" asked Bertha, looking at him in great alarm, as though she had done something she ought not, and had been found out.
"What? You had no adventures? But you were with Frau Rupius; all the men must surely have run after you?"
"What on earth has come into your head? Frau Rupius' conduct is irreproachable! She is one of the most well-bred ladies I know."
"Quite so, quite so! I am not saying a word against Frau Rupius or you."
She looked him in the face. His eyes were gleaming, as they often did when he had had a little too much to drink. She could not help recalling that somebody had once foretold that Herr Garlan would die of an apoplectic stroke.
"I must pay another visit to Vienna myself one of these days," he said. "Why, I haven't been there since Ash Wednesday. I should like to see some of my acquaintances once again. The next time you and Frau Rupius go, you might just take me with you."
"With pleasure," answered Bertha. "I shall have to go again, of course, before long, to have my costume tried on."
Garlan laughed.